


Left Unguarded

by kiazareni



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Tags Are Hard, Viktor with a K, Yuri is 18, but don't worry nothing bad happens to my precious son, drunk!yuri, otayuri being stupid and oblivious, yuri is pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9673745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiazareni/pseuds/kiazareni
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky, a gold medalist figure skater who had broken his own world record for the highest score ever received on a short program, almost tripped over his own feet when he thought about kissing his best friend. What a fucking joke. He needed to do something about this and fast, before other people caught on.Or, in which Yuri Plisetsky has Feelings™ and it sucks





	

**Author's Note:**

> Huge shoutout to my friend Mari, who kept me sane during this rollercoaster, always there to give me moral support, proofread and check if I was even alive. Thank you, I have no idea what I would have done without you.
> 
> Dear Reader, I hope you will like this, and if you decide to leave a comment or a kudos I will probably love you forever.
> 
> Please remember, that I actually have little to no idea how figure skaters train, so it's entirely possible that I got it wrong. I apologize for that.
> 
> Otabek's SP music is Debussy's La plus que lente:  
> https://youtu.be/IazwSz8Ueh8 
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

In retrospect, it was all Mila’s fault, really. Yuri was more than ready to blame the stupid hag for everything, ignoring that persistent, quiet voice in the back of his mind going “um, actually...” everytime he did it. The voice, strangely, sounded a lot like Otabek which made Yuri feel a bit guilty because for some unknown reason the Kazakh skater had that effect on him. In another universe, a different timeline or a parallel world he might have even considered apologizing, but since he had an image to maintain, he absolutely refused to do that. He was the ice tiger of Russia, god fucking dammit, and ice tigers are never sorry for anything. He had a feeling Mila would just laugh her ass off anyway if he tried to apologize. Anyhow, he decided to keep blaming her because she was the one who said the thing. The thing that started all this on a perfectly normal Thursday morning. 

Yuri had just finished warming up and did a few laps around the rink, shaking it up with some easier spins and jumps before they got on with practicing his short program. He had to admit, he was pretty excited about it. His theme this year was “Phoenix”, and he liked to think that it wasn’t his own “ashes” he rose from, it was Katsuki Yuuri’s, who retired after taking every fucking gold medal last season, following his husband who stopped skating competitively two years ago. He only came back for one season, beating both him and the japanese Yuuri just to prove that he still can. The bastard. They put up a good fight though, and made Viktor sweat for every medal. Yuri still remembered his face when he only won by 0.7 points. Well, he might have just pretended to be surprised and slightly offended to get his fiancé to be gross and romantic and kiss him, Yuri didn’t care. At the time he was too busy being angry about placing second to pay attention to Viktor’s hidden agenda with his dramatic frowning and pouting.

Whatever the reason, he kept that memory as a reminder to never become too confident. That no matter how many gold medals you had, someday there would be someone younger, stronger, a new face, or maybe an old one pulling off a miracle performance like Katsudon. Now that both of them were out of the picture and Yuri lost his biggest rivals (he missed being challenged by them, even though he would never admit that out loud) he had another skater he needed to consider as a potential threat to his place on the podium. 

He didn’t know how or why, but one Otabek Altin had quickly become like ten times better during the last two years. Yuri wasn’t really surprised, he knew that his friend had been training harder, and he was very proud of him. After all, he couldn’t be friends with a loser who falls on his face everytime he steps on the ice. There was a tiny chance he might have still made an exception for Otabek, but Yuri was just glad that he didn’t have to make that decision, because Otabek was good.

Like... really good. 

He was always precise, rarely missed a jump in competition, so that was never a problem. But during the last season, something changed and Otabek’s programs became downright passionate, fierce, full of emotions. He was fire on ice. Yuri didn’t know what caused this sudden development, and he didn’t ask. He figured it had to do something with the fact that Otabek was close to retirement and had yet to win a major championship. That, or the Kazakh skater found something - maybe someone - that made him this passionate about his skating. Yuri quickly discarded that idea, because if that were true, Otabek surely would have told him. After all, you don’t keep something like that from your best friend, right? Yuri wasn’t an expert at friendships, but he was pretty sure this was in the rulebook somewhere. 

Either way, he liked the idea of competing against his best friend and actually having a chance to lose that competition. It made him fight even harder, and that was how he came up with his latest idea of learning a quadruple Axel. Yakov’s first reaction was to call him insane while Mila stared at her unable to even say anything (Yuri would have laughed at her if he hadn’t been so busy convincing Yakov), and later, when he told Viktor and the pig, they immediately started yelling at him, listing at least fifteen different ways he could get a permanent injury, destroying his career at the ripe old age of eighteen. But Lilia just looked at him for a few seconds, considering everything he had said and then turned to Yakov.

“I believe he can do it.”

Plain and simple. That seemed to make his coach at least think about it, and a few days later he scheduled an off-ice practice at the gym to go over the details and start preparing his body with different exercises. He seemed a bit too worried about it, but Yuri didn’t care if it meant that he could at least try the jump. A world record can be beaten, but being the first skater to land a quad Axel in competition, that was something entirely different. That was making history. 

He hadn’t told Otabek though. The two shared a few texts almost every day, talked on the phone regularly and had weekly Skype-sessions, so Yuri had plenty of opportunities, but he always changed his mind last minute. He wanted his friend to see it for the first time when the jump is clean and successful, he wanted to see his honest reaction to Yuri landing it. Of course there was another part of him that simply didn’t want to brag and then not be able to do it. Not because he was afraid Otabek would laugh at him, feel sorry for him or think he’s pathetic to even try, he knew that Otabek would never do any of these things. He just didn’t want him to know until he could land the jump, thank you very much.

After a few weeks of hard training on and off ice, Yakov finally allowed him to try. The first few attempts, which, for Yuri seemed like it was a million times, ended with him failing spectacularly but he was determined to land it today. Yuri increased his speed, eyes focusing on nothing in particular as he concentrated on his movements preparing to jump. A moment later, he crashed into the ice with his hip and arm so hard, he was sure he was going to have bruises all over his right side. It didn’t hurt as much as it hurt his ego. He really wanted to be the first one - wait no, he was going to be the first person to land the quad Axel in competition. He just had to learn to land it in practice first.

“YURI PLISETSKY! How many times do I have to tell you to watch your free leg, you reckless…” Yuri tuned out the rest of Yakov’s constructive criticism when he spotted something weird next to his coach. Otabek was standing there casually, hands resting in the pockets of his leather jacket, watching him with a serious look on his face. 

Of course, ninety percent of Otabek’s facial expressions were serious, that’s not what made Yuri stop and stare at him. It was him being there at all, because what the hell was he even doing there, he was supposed be in Kazakhstan, and why hadn’t he mentioned that he was coming to Russia? He had just texted him yesterday and he didn’t say anything about visiting Yuri. Not that Yuri assumed that he couldn’t possibly have a different reason for being there, but he still should have mentioned it before. He quickly rose to his feet ignoring the dull pain in his right elbow, skated to the gate and a moment later threw his arms around Otabek’s neck.

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

Otabek pulled away a little but he kept his hands on Yuri’s shoulders. Yuri noticed how much taller he was with the skates still on, and with those extra few centimeters he grew since they last met in person. He wanted to hug him again just to see if it felt any different now that Otabek was the shorter one, and since Yuri failed to develop any kind of self control, he decided to do just that. He spotted Yakov behind them, who apparently gave up on the lectures and left them alone. He probably figured that his pupil wouldn’t be able to focus on training for the rest of the day and Yuri silently agreed. He held onto his friend a moment longer than necessary before stepping away.

“No seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked him again before Otabek even had a chance to reply. “And why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

He emphasized the question with a light punch to the other’s shoulder.

“You first. What the hell was that?”

“A work in progress,” Yuri answered with a snort. He felt the rise of embarrassment over his failed attempt and quickly pushed it back down.

“You’re going for a quad Axel, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question so Yuri didn’t reply. He braced himself against the same speech everyone else gave him, the one about the injuries and how most people thought the jump was even physically impossible, but only silence followed Otabek’s question. He risked a glance at his friend’s face and saw nothing but understanding and a tiny bit of worry.

“Just be careful, okay? I need you in top form if I want to beat you at the GPF this year.”

“It’s easier to beat me if I break my leg.”

“I don’t want easy. And please don’t joke about that.” Otabek seemed slightly more worried than two minutes ago which wasn’t what Yuri was going for at all. Damn. 

“I still don’t know what you’re doing here,” Yuri decided to say, changing the subject from him possibly ruining his career to Otabek magically appearing 4500 kilometres away from where he was supposed to be.

“Oh.” Anyone who didn’t know him probably wouldn’t have noticed, but Yuri did, from the way he looked around, eyes settling on him only after a quick glance to his shoes. Otabek was nervous. He guarded his emotions carefully, but Yuri wasn’t stupid and he paid attention. “Surprise, I guess?”

Yuri only arched an eyebrow.

“In Russia, that doesn’t count as an explanation, you know.”

“Pavel’s mother has cancer,” he replied after a few seconds. “He travelled back home to take care of her and sent me here to train with Yakov until he returns.”

Yuri didn’t know how to respond to that. He was glad to have Otabek with him in Saint Petersburg. Hell, he was over the moon that they were going to live in the same city and get to hang out whenever they feel like it, but he couldn’t just say so, could he? He might have been… inconsiderate when it came to sensitive subjects or other people’s feelings, but he wasn’t _that_ rude. He was 18 now, he had manners, and Otabek’s coach had to leave because his mom had fucking cancer. Still, he could barely contain his excitement, and fought the smile that wanted to appear on his face. 

“That... sucks,” he offered after the silence had become awkward, and mentally patted himself on the back for trying. “So you’re staying at my place, right?”

“Um,” Otabek replied hesitantly and Yuri took that as a yes.

“Great! Wait for me outside, I’ll be right there!” he clapped once and started to take his skates off. Otabek apparently knew better than to argue because without any further comment he turned away and made his way to the exit.

And that’s when it happened. Yuri was on his way to the locker room when Mila skated over to him, leaning against the gate casually and waiting until Otabek was out of earshot. She twirled her red hair around her finger playfully, her eyes locked on the Kazakh man, shamelessly checking him out. Yuri could see and hear the entire conversation playing out between them before Mila even had a chance to open her mouth and he wanted to puke. He wasn’t one to judge people for their choice of partners but he was sure Mila had a problem.

The problem was italian, with long black hair and purple eyes, but Yuri decided that Viktor’s lovelife had already scarred him for life, so _no, thank you, he will respectively keep his opinion to himself and stay the fuck out of it_. If Mila wanted to use every person she could get her hands on to forget about her major crush on Sara Crispino, it was none of Yuri’s business. Even if her next target was his best friend.

“Ugh, you’re gross,” he said and with that, he considered the matter closed. He was about to turn around and resume his course to the locker room when Mila answered.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Yuri only raised an eyebrow. Mila smiled at him innocently and then looked at the door Otabek had disappeared behind. “Do you think he would be interested?”

“In?” Yuri asked impatiently with a sigh, pretending to not know where this was going.

“Me.”

“No,” he replied way too quickly, and even let a quiet chuckle escape his lips. The mere thought was ridiculous, Otabek and Mila together, as a couple, being all… couple-y, like Viktor and the pork cutlet bowl, making out in every corner and finding excuses to touch each other, or hold hands or hug in public. It seemed unimaginable, Otabek wasn’t like that.

“Wow, you sound awfully sure.” Mila almost looked offended. “Whatever, forget it.”

Needless to say, Yuri had failed epically at forgetting it. The realization dawned on him a few days later, when he and Otabek were at home, Beka’s stuff unpacked in the guest room, the two of them having dinner in a comfortable silence. It was almost frighteningly natural, how Otabek fit into Yuri’s life like he’d always belonged there. After only communicating via text messages and having to rely on Skype-calls, his friend was now always _there_. Even if they didn’t get to meet all day, signs of him were all around the apartment, like a constant reminder for Yuri that Otabek had become part of his everyday life. The coffee mug on the table, the extra toothbrush in his bathroom, and especially the familiar leather jacket on the back of a chair (which bothered Yuri endlessly but at the same time he didn’t want him to put it away either). He expected it to be overwhelming, he thought it would feel like someone was invading his personal space, but Otabek was surprisingly easy to be around. 

He ignored the thought for a while, as they got used to the whole living together situation, but it kept popping up in his mind from time to time. It wasn’t like he actively tried to figure out why Otabek wouldn’t like Mila, it was just a quiet voice nudging him about it, because Beka seemed to have a pretty good life, with absolutely no mention of any kind of romantic relationship ever. Yuri had never realized it before, but now he just couldn’t help but wonder why.

He tried not staring at his friend too obviously over his dinner while he kept replaying his conversation with Mila. It was nothing, just a petty remark after he’d said no to her question, but even after a few weeks, it just kept bothering him. 

He _was_ way too quick and confident with his answer. 

He even laughed about it, like Otabek in a relationship was such an absurd idea. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t understand his own reaction either. His friend was almost 22 years old, one of the world’s top figure skaters, and without question, the best in his country. He was smart, a relatively nice guy and ridiculously good-looking. So why was it so unimaginable to picture him with an equally nice girl, probably quiet and intelligent like Otabek, who loves to read and goes to competitions to support him? 

He wanted to bring it up, maybe ask him about it, but before his brain had a chance to approve the final version of what he wanted to say, Otabek glanced up and their eyes met. Yuri looked away and pretended to find his sandwich way more interesting than it really was. God, he hated Mila. This was her fault.

“I’m bored,” he said, which was a lie, since his brain was actually kind of preoccupied at the moment. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Are you going to make me watch the next Saw movie?”

“Dude, you’ve only seen the first three, the best is yet to come.” He stood up, went to put his plate in the sink and kicked Otabek’s chair on his way back. “Come on, I know you secretly like them.”

 

The problem with Yuri was that he just couldn’t shut up during a movie. They ended up half sitting, half lying on Otabek’s bed, with Yuri’s laptop in front of them, and him babbling about everything and nothing while people died in various horrible ways. Beka listened to him more than he listened to the actual movie, but he did try and keep his eyes on the screen.

“He’s my favourite,” Yuri commented every time Mark Hoffmann appeared and so much as looked at the camera, “So shady. He is the best character in the whole franchise. My favourite.”

“I can see that.” Otabek gave him an amused smile and Yuri, in return, scooted closer to stick his elbow in his side. He didn’t move away after that, and instead let his head drop lazily on his friend’s shoulder.

“Shut up, I’m practically in love with him.”

It was over so quickly, Yuri almost believed he’d imagined it, but for a moment, he felt Otabek tense up under him. Since he barely paid any attention to what was going on in the movie, Yuri was pretty sure that his words had made him freeze for a second but _why_? They never really talked about this stuff, so it might have been just surprising, hearing him drop the word “love” so easily, but come on, it was about a fictional character, it wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. Yuri was about to ask him about the relationship stuff again, when, for the second time that day, Otabek interrupted his train of thoughts.

“Hey, is that…?” He didn’t finish the sentence though, and Yuri glanced at the screen to see what he meant. 

“That’s Agent Strahm. Why?”

“No reason.”

Otabek seemed weirdly uncomfortable, so naturally Yuri decided to push him a little. He lifted his head from his shoulder and sat up properly, so he could see his face. “Come on, Altin, spill.”

“You’re never going to let me forget this,” Otabek replied with a rather pained expression, but this just made Yuri want to know even more. He grabbed his t-shirt and pulled on it twice like a child. Otabek mumbled something under his nose, and Yuri had to ask him to repeat it, because it sounded like...

“I know that guy from Gilmore Girls.”

Yuri’s mouth fell open, and his face lit up like he’d just heard the greatest news of his life.

“Shut up,” he said, “Otabek I Smiled Once And It Hurt My Face Altin saw Gilmore Girls?!”

“Hey, I do smile...”

“No, no wait, this is too good, let me enjoy this!” Yuri threw his hands up, and covered Beka’s mouth with his palm for a moment. “Otabek My Happy Face Is A Frown Altin likes Gilmore Girls?”

“It’s not a frown.” He tried to pretend to be offended, but it just made Yuri burst out laughing, because Otabek was practically _pouting_ in his own moderate way, and Yuri would have called him adorable if it’d been a word he ever imagined being associated with his friend. 

“Oh my god this is gold, it’s like the single greatest gift you’ve ever given me, you know. So tell me, which facial expression were you wearing while watching it? You have two, the totally neutral, and the slightly disapproving. I’m guessing it was the disapproving… Oh wait! Did you cry?” 

He figured he could go on and on for hours, finding out everything he can about this tiny little detail of Beka’s life. Teasing him for it entertained Yuri to no end, but it wasn’t really surprising. The Kazakh skater, after getting to know him, turned out to be a lot less serious than he’d first seem like. The man was a big softie who liked teddy bears for god’s sake, and, apparently Gilmore Girls. It was just difficult to get close enough to see this side of him, and Yuri felt inherently proud of himself for getting a peek.

Otabek on the other hand seemed to have had enough and tried to shut him up by grabbing his waist, pulling him back to his chest and sticking his thumb in Yuri’s ribcage. He put his arm around Yuri’s shoulders to keep him in place and started poking his ribs mercilessly while the russian boy kicked and yelled and laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes.

“Will you stop now?” Beka leaned forward so he can look him in the eyes. 

“Never.” Yuri put his hand on his heart, but the dramatic effect was lost between his breathless laughs. He proceeded to ask him about his favourite characters, episodes and relationships, never quite making an attempt to escape Otabek’s arms, and instead letting himself relax against him.

Eventually he ran out of questions to tease Otabek with, and they turned their attention back to the movie. 

Or at least that’s what Yuri assumed Otabek did. His mind, on the other hand returned to a previous problem as soon as his brain caught up and processed that they were practically cuddling, Beka’s arms circling his waist, Yuri’s head once again resting on his shoulder.

It was nice, natural, like every aspect of their friendship, and the mental image of Otabek laying on his bed like this with a girl made Yuri feel weird, like something heavy had been dropped from his lungs to his stomach. Stupid Mila, putting ideas in his head with her annoying questions about Otabek and relationships and reminding him of this gross, romantic bullshit he’d already had to endure from Viktor and Katsuki almost every day. He didn’t want to think about that, he was perfectly happy in his oblivious bubble with his friend, never having to worry about losing him to some random chick. 

He thought about how easy and uncomplicated things were with them. There was no drama, no arguments, they were basically the number one person in each other’s life, and Yuri quite liked it that way. This was his place after all, tucked into Beka’s side and he didn’t intend to give it up, not for Mila, and not for anyone else who might have had a stupid crush on him. This was more important.

It wasn’t until he noticed that somewhere along his internal monologue he grabbed Otabek’s hand that it finally just _clicked_. 

He stared at their entwined fingers, watched as he subconsciously started brushing his thumb against Beka’s palm, drawing random figures on his skin.

Oh.

_Oh, no._

Yuri felt the urge to bang his head in the wall. Hard. He became hypersensitive of Otabek’s presence around him in a second, skin touching skin, his warm breath in Yuri’s hair, their hands still clasped together and suddenly it was all just too much, because _he understood now_ , he knew why he didn’t mind the strong arms around him, and the leather jacket forgotten on the chair, and why all the annoying parts of having a roommate just didn’t annoy Yuri as much as they should have, and he needed to get out of that room, preferably in that fucking moment.

“I’m tired,” he said hurriedly, and practically jumped out of the bed, not even waiting for an answer. He didn’t trust his face to quickly return to its normal shade instead of the bright red it most definitely was, so he awkwardly kept his back turned to Otabek while picking up his laptop. “Let’s finish this tomorrow, okay?”

By the time the puzzled “good night” reached his ears, he’d already shut the door. He threw himself on the bed in the safety of his own bedroom, where no cuddling and handholding could distract him and stared at the ceiling. He wondered if he should be confused or scared, because that’s how he had imagined this would feel like if he ever experienced it, but all he felt was a sudden clarity, like the world had been slightly out of place up until this night and everything had just snapped back where it belonged. Things made sense now, even though Yuri had never noticed they didn’t.

He had a crush on his best friend.

No, not a crush. What was it?

Was he in love with Otabek? His eyes widened at the thought and in his mind there was nothing but a shocked “oh my god oh my god oh my god” on repeat.

He was so utterly fucked. 

Yuri always considered himself a brave person, willing to face any obstacles, never backing out from a fight and he quickly decided that this… _thing_ needed to be handled the same way. It was a challenge like any other, and Yuri Plisetsky never avoided one. Whether it was a quadraple axel, a dance off or certain feelings for his best friend, he went out of his way to prove himself and he wasn’t about to change now. He would think about this logically, and science his way through his emotions.

He blinked twice and prepared himself for a night of heavy thinking and decision-making. First things first: even the thought of Otabek being in a romantic relationship made him jealous, that was clear as day. He’d never considered it before, but Mila’s words opened a door he hadn’t even known was there, and all these new emotions came flooding over him. Beka having dinner with someone else, thinking about them while skating, celebrating with them after a competition, hugging and teasing and kissing someone who wasn’t Yuri... The thought made him cold and anxious, and so he decided to change these mental pictures and place himself in the role of Beka’s partner to see how it made him feel.

For science.

The first part was easy, because he’d already lived with Otabek so the sappy domestic bullshit wasn’t even that far-fetched. They ate together, did grocery shopping together, watched movies, they did literally everything together. Was that even normal? Was that how you were supposed to live with your roommate or was it already something more than what he would define as friendship? Or was it only because they had barely spent a few weeks together so it was all new and exciting?

Well, it wasn’t that new. They formed a strong bond over the years, ever since Otabek showed up in that alley to save Yuri from his fans in Barcelona, like a knight in shining armor. He basically took him on a date ( _a friend date_ , he corrected himself), where they watched the sunset and Beka offered a friendship Yuri didn’t know he needed. Now that he thought about it, the whole thing was ridiculously romantic. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact time they became best friends, he just realized one day that they had been texting each other constantly, every day, sharing every detail of their lives, and before he knew it, Otabek was on a first name basis with his grandfather and Yuri knew when his mom’s birthday was. Country borders never mattered so he couldn’t pretend that living together was what changed everything. 

He tried to picture them in more romantic situations and it quickly dawned on him that he didn’t need much of an imagination for it. Hugging and teasing, check-check, it was a regular thing between them, even the occasional cuddling and hand holding which was probably testing the boundaries of friendship anyway. Considering the kissing, the only coherent thought Yuri could come up with was that he would definitely have to test his theory in practice. 

For the sake of science. Probably more than once, because everybody knows that a reliable result needs experimenting. 

Tasha interrupted his thoughts when she jumped on the bed to join him. Yuri tried to grab her and sink his face in her fur to comfort himself, but naturally she escaped as fast as she could. His cat only cuddled when she wanted to, and Yuri couldn’t make her do anything at all. 

“What should I do, Tasha?” he murmured, and in reply she tried to eat Yuri’s hair. 

“You’re useless,” he told her and quickly put his hair in a loose bun to save it from becoming his cat’s dinner. “Hey, do you think I should kiss him or something?”

Tasha didn’t answer because Tasha didn’t give a fuck. 

 

 

Yuri successfully distracted himself the next morning by humming the Gilmore Girls theme song whenever Otabek was around. At first it just made the Kazakh roll his eyes, because he was a bit grumpy in the mornings - not as grumpy as Yuri, he just talked even less than usual and sort of grunted instead of speaking actual words. The second time however was after coffee when he was more like a real person, capable of forming sentences, so when Yuri got out of the bathroom and let Beka in, and whispered the chorus (“ _Where you lead, I will follow anywhere, that you tell me to…_ ”) he actually got a full-on laugh out of him. Yuri smirked into his mug and wondered if it would be a good idea to change Beka’s ringtone as soon as he accidentally leaves his phone out somewhere.

They walked to the rink together discussing their plans for the day. Yuri talked about his short program and the quad Axel he really wanted to land, and once again, gave Otabek a few approval points for not making a fuss about it. He had more than enough people treating him like he was a fragile flower who must be protected, and the fact that Beka kept his mouth shut meant a lot. He was still worried, but on a much lower level than Viktor, for example. Or the pig. Or even Yakov, who asked him everyday if he was sure about it. Talking to someone who made no effort to convince him to drop it was a nice change. 

He asked Otabek about his theme for the season.

“Unguarded,” he said and the short reply made Yuri raise an eyebrow at his friend. “What?”

“It’s a bit ironic, don’t you think? You’re the most guarded person on Earth.”

Otabek looked at him with a funny expression Yuri couldn’t quite figure out. “I think you’ve already claimed that title.”

“Shut up.”

They showed up at the rink five minutes late and Yakov wasted another three by yelling at them for it, but they quickly got through the warm up session and started training. Yuri tried his best not to let his stupid feelings get in the way of his skating, because he’d rather die than turn into an emotional mess like Katsuki Yuuri, who failed to land the quad toe whenever Viktor forgot to wash the dishes or whatever. 

Or worse, he could turn into Viktor who used to dedicate all his programs to his husband and cried over how perfect Katsudon’s hands or hair or eyes or ears were. People had already called him the next Viktor Nikiforov because of the similarities in their looks and skating careers (that was one reason Yuri never let his hair grow past his shoulders), there was no need to start comparing their love lives. 

Okay, maybe he was exaggerating but the point is, he was a professional, damn it. Skating wasn’t just something he loved, it wasn’t a full-time hobby, it was his fucking job and way to make a living. So he would get a fucking grip and stop thinking about how Beka’s skin would taste like under his lips.

Three hours later he was ready to murder someone, as he dropped himself on a bench and fought the urge to throw his skates at the wall. To say that he was in a bad mood was a major understatement. No, he didn’t fall during the practice, because every single attempt at the quad Axel turned into a successful triple or double. Everytime he tried, he knew going in that his mind was elsewhere (probably at the far end of the rink where Otabek and Mila were discussing the hag’s step sequence in her free skate) and so he kept backing out last minute. 

He hated Mila with a burning passion. This never would have happened if she hadn’t brought up the whole “Otabek being interested in someone” thing. Yuri would probably still live happily, in denial, landing quad Axels left and right. 

Ignorance was truly a bliss.

It was just so goddamn infuriating, him becoming incompetent just because he realized he liked Otabek. Yuri Plisetsky, a gold medalist figure skater who had broken his own world record for the highest score ever received on a short program, almost tripped over his own feet when he thought about kissing his best friend. What a fucking joke. He needed to do something about this, and fast, before other people caught on.

An idea struck him then and it was probably horrible, but the pork cutlet bowl was right there, alone and out of Viktor’s earshot so Yuri acted before he could knock some sense into himself. Much to his annoyance, they still hung out around the rink a lot, interrupting practices, giving advice Yuri most definitely didn’t ask for, but for once, their presence might have been useful. Viktor was busy teaching an overly excited 6-year-old girl, so he took a chance.

“Yo, Katsudon!” he called out and Yuuri turned around to look at him. “Sit your ass down, I wanna talk.”

Katsuki, god bless his annoyingly kind nature sat down without a question.

“I’m gonna ask you about something, and if you tell anyone, I’ll strangle you with your own shoelaces, ok?”

“Got it,” he nodded, smiling so wide it hurt Yuri’s eyes. He was probably very proud of himself for earning his Russian namesake’s trust, which was ridiculous but worked in Yuri’s favour at the moment. That’s why he was sure the pig wouldn’t say a word to Viktor. 

“And you’re not allowed to ask any questions in return.”

“O...kay?”

He felt himself blushing a little, but refused to break eye contact and kept acting like it was no big deal.

“What’s it like, being with someone you love?”

Katsudon’s eyes widened, obviously surprised by his question. “You mean… sexually?”

Yuri wanted to scream. “Ew, no! Don’t be disgusting, I don’t wanna know anything about… that, so spare me the details of your sex life, okay?” He sighed, frustrated that he needed to rephrase which meant more blushing and awkwardness. “I mean in a relationship. In general. I don’t need the birds and bees speech from you, for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh.” The pig relaxed and leaned back on the bench, glancing at Viktor before answering. “You know, it’s a lot like living with your best friend.”

 _This is literally the opposite of helping_ , Yuri wanted to say, but didn’t because that would’ve given the other a clue of what this was about.

“That’s it? Just with kissing and stuff?” 

“And stuff,” the japenese nodded happily, wearing his most innocent smile but it didn’t fool Yuri. God, these two were probably the dirtiest couple ever. He still wasn’t satisfied with the answer though, so he ignored the way Katsudon glanced at Viktor again with a blush on his cheeks and kept asking.

“So what do you feel when you kiss Viktor? How is it different than making out with a random person?”

As much as he hated to do this, he needed details. Scientific research, right?

Finally, the pig took a second to think about his reply. Maybe now he will say something that’s actually helpful. After a few moments of silence, when he was ready to give up and order the other to forget about the whole thing, he started speaking. “Yurio, have you ever been drunk?”

What the fuck. Also, that still wasn’t his name, but more and more people ignored that since Katsuki moved to Russia. Otabek being an exception, of course. At least _he_ knew who the number one Yuri was around here.

“Not as drunk as you, pig.”

Katsudon had the audacity to laugh, and Yuri took a mental note that he can no longer use that memorable banquet as bullying material. The guy got way too comfortable with the subject.

“I don’t mean like wasted, blackout drunk,” he explained. “But it’s more than being tipsy. When it starts to feel like the room is spinning, the voices around you sound funny, like they are far away. You lose your focus, and you can only concentrate on one thing, while the rest of the world fades. That’s what kissing feels like, if you’re doing it with the right person.” 

Yuri tried his best to look as unimpressed as he could, and kept his eyes on his japanese ex-rinkmate, so he could avoid looking at Otabek. Even the pork cutlet bowl wasn’t dense enough to not notice such a telling sign.

“That’s fucking stupid,” he said and stood up, getting ready to get back to practicing, “...thanks.” 

He left without another word, ignoring the question marks written all over Katsuki’s face. If anything, he felt worse after talking to him, because now he wanted to kiss Otabek even more badly. How would he react, he wondered, if Yuri just said fuck it, and pushed him up against the nearest wall? He could explain that it’s for science, to determine if he really liked him or he’d just been alone for too long.

Worst-case scenario: Otabek runs all the way back to Kazakhstan and never speaks to him again.

Best-case scenario: Yuri can finally land the quadraple Axel and celebrate by making out with Otabek some more.

Of course, he didn’t plan on relying on another person’s feelings for him. He was too talented for that, and worked way too hard. If love were the key to technical perfection he would have asked Otabek to marry him right there in Barcelona three years ago. 

In the end he managed to stay upright on the ice after a few more trials. He underrotated, so technically he didn’t land the jump but it was progress and Yuri finished that day’s training with a smile on his face. A smile, that disappeared before he even had a chance to leave the rink. 

Yuri started to think the universe was out to get him, to bring him up to date and quickly make him go through everything he should have in the last three years. 

“Yuri!” he heard the enthusiastic voice on his way to the exit. He thought he was the last one to leave, like always. Viktor and Katsudon left earlier, Yakov, as usual, was nowhere to be found five minutes after he called it a day (it was like he disappeared into thin air, in fact Yuri and Georgi used to have a few theories about him being a wizard), and Otabek had an appointment to the doctor for his annual checkup. 

It was just him and Mila.

“Fuck off, hag,” he replied, not even glancing at her. She wasn’t exactly on the top of his list of favourite people right now, because he couldn’t help but think none of this would be happening if it wasn’t for her.

“Did you see my triple-triple?” she ignored his remark and caught up to him before he could escape. “Otabek helped a little with my Rippon lutz, it looks amazing now. I bet that combination will secure my place on the podium.”

Hearing her brag about her wonderful training with Otabek definitely didn’t help. Yuri felt his blood boil, so he clenched his jaw and tried very hard not to explode. 

“What is wrong with you? Are you deaf or something?” Yuri turned around and stared at Mila, who was almost jumping up and down in excitement. “I don’t fucking care. Leave me alone.”

“What’s gotten into you?” She seemed worried and lifted an arm to touch Yuri’s shoulder. Great. She noticed that this was different from Yuri’s usual, basic rudeness. “Did something happen?”

What was he supposed to say to that? Nothing happened, and yet, Yuri felt like the whole world changed around him overnight. 

“It’s your fucking fault,” he murmured, knowing full well that he didn’t answer and Mila had no idea what he meant by that. “If you just hadn’t said anything…”

He ignored her confused expression and instead reminded himself that if he lets his rage go free and starts yelling at her, he won’t be able to stop himself from telling everything. He wasn’t angry enough to be an idiot, even if there was a part of him that wanted to tell Mila. He wanted to tell her that Otabek was already taken, she couldn’t have him, because he was Yuri’s, always had been, always would be.

Except he wasn’t, and Yuri felt like a coward, so he stormed out, not saying another word.

He decided to silence his phone and take the longer route home, to clear his head and avoid yelling at every living thing he might actually care about (the short list consisted of his cat, his grandfather and of course the root of all his problems, one Otabek Altin). He felt restless, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Shouting at Mila helped a little, but it also made him feel worse, because that stupid voice in his mind reminded him that it wasn’t actually Mila’s fault that he failed to keep a friendship just that. Making him realize it absolutely was though, and Yuri happily blamed her because it took the pressure off him.

He had one friend. One. Sure, there was Viktor, and the other Yuri, who both seemed to like him for whatever reason, and there were days when he didn’t want to kill Mila. Not this day, but still. Georgi used to be more or less okay when he didn’t suffer from some kind of romantic crisis, but he retired last year and Yuri couldn’t remember the last time he saw him. It wasn’t the same though, they weren’t friends of his choice, they were just around a lot and Yuri had slowly learnt to tolerate or like them. 

Otabek was different. They weren’t stuck at the same rink or forced to talk because they shared a coach. He went up to Yuri and asked him to become friends. He could have asked anyone, but he chose the rude 15-year-old with the temper tantrums, because he saw what was underneath it all.

 _The unforgettable eyes of a soldier,_ he said. To Otabek, Yuri Plisetsky was a fighter, not the russian fairy, the kitten or the ice tiger, and Yuri hadn’t realized before just how much he loved him for it.

He had one friend, and he had to go ruin it. One person who showed a minimal interest in Yuri, and he clutched onto him, desperate for something more. It was pathetic, really. 

After he got home and took a shower, Yuri expected himself to feel better, but he wasn’t quite there yet. He was alone in the apartment, and that was probably for the better. He needed that, he wasn’t sure he could face Otabek at the moment, so instead of waiting for his friend to get home, he fed Tasha, then grabbed his wallet and keys and headed out. 

 

It was barely dark outside, when he found himself sitting in a bar. His company was nothing but a shot of vodka, which he quickly pushed down and got replaced. He stared at the second one with a stoic expression, all emotions repressed and curling around his insides as he thought about his situation.

He really wanted to openly feel sorry for himself right there, in the safety of a hidden pub in the ass end of Saint Petersburg, but the walls around him were so well-built that Yuri felt like he was trapped on the outside too. 

He decided that those walls needed to be washed away, even if it’s for just one night and that more alcohol would probably do the trick. He picked up the second shot and waved to the bartender for a third one.

He drank, and wondered if it really was a good idea, because the fact is, it was no accident that Yuri avoided the answer when the pig asked him about his drinking habits. 

He was aware that there was a russian stereotype about being able to drink yourself into a stupor and then get up the next day like it was nothing, but he wasn’t like that. He found that out after a painful experience on his 17th birthday (or rather, the day after that).

He rarely ever drank, because being a professional athlete didn’t leave much room for partying, no matter what fans thought, and he didn’t want to anyway. Yakov would probably kill him if he ever showed up on the ice with a hangover, but that wasn’t the only reason. Yuri took his skating career very seriously, and he was paranoid that one reckless night could cause an injury on the next day that would cost him everything.

Yuri was a lightweight. And in that dark pub where no one knew him (he still pulled his hoodie over his head just to be safe), for the first time in his life, he wanted to step over a line. The line was an obligatory toast with champagne after a skating competition or on new year’s eve, so it still wasn’t much, but it was enough to leave him light-headed and giddy, original purpose to feel sorry for himself, forgotten.

He asked for a beer because shots were too quick to drink, and he wanted the night the last longer than passing out after two hours. So he took it a bit slower and watched the bubbles in silence, feeling each one rising to his head and making everything seem less important. It was nice, he felt lighter, like his problems were in a safe distance, leaving him alone for one blissful evening.

He decided that maybe it wasn’t his fault after all, that he couldn’t just stay friends with Otabek. He was way too perfect for his own good, who could blame Yuri for developing a crush on him? He was kind, intelligent, a talented athlete and it wasn’t exactly painful to look at him. It wasn’t Yuri’s fault that Otabek was so goddamn hot and nice that it was impossible not to like the guy.

He was better than Yuri in every way, and somewhere during the third beer he started wondering why the Kazakh man even bothered being friends with him. He was honest but polite, never rude but always telling it how it is. He wasn’t overly friendly but still had a kind word to everyone. He didn’t brag about his accomplishments and he wasn’t a sore loser. Yuri may have been a better skater but Otabek would soon surpass him with the way his performance changed in the last two years and he’ll be a better skater too.

Why did Otabek want to be friends with him all those years ago? And after he got to know him… why did he stay? Yuri knew he wasn’t exactly a delight to be around, even though he toned down the attitude a little as he grew up.

He looked at the empty glasses in front of him, and decided to send a picture of them to Beka. Or maybe ask him about this friendship thing, or congratulate him for tolerating Yuri, he wasn’t sure which one it was going to be. When he unlocked the phone however, the first thing that greeted him was 26 missed calls and so many messages he didn’t even bother to read the number. 

Oh, right. He forgot he had silenced his phone. 

Most of the calls and texts were from Otabek (or as Yuri started calling him after the third beer, _He Who Must Not Be Named_ ), but there were a few others from Viktor, the other Yuuri and one text from Mila. That one, he deleted immediately without reading, and then went back to check the first few.

_18:21 Beka: hey, do you need anything from the store?_

_18:40 Beka: i just got home where are you?_

Yuri snorted and almost knocked over an empty glass, although he wasn’t sure what was so funny about the text. Maybe the sheer domesticity of it, or the fact that Beka was surprised that Yuri didn’t wait for him to get home and eat dinner together.

_21:09 Beka: Yuri, it’s been 3 hours. Please pick up the phone._

_21:10 Beka: i just want to know that you’re okay_

_21:42 Beka: i am calling Viktor_

_21:48 Katsudon: Yurio, no one knows where you are call us asap_

Damn it, that was still not his name, why can’t people just exist with two Yuris?

_21:50 Katsudon: we’re worried sick, it’s not like you to disappear like this, at least let us know you’re alive?_

_22:12 Beka: Mila said you left angry today. Please call me._

_22:20 Beka: Yura. Please._

The others seemed to be similar to these, urging Yuri to pick up the phone or whatever, he didn’t bother reading all of them. Through the daze of alcohol he felt a dull pang of guilt, and he pressed the phone to his ear while resting his chin in his hand propped up on the table. Otabek answered immediately.

“Yuri, are you alright?”

“Um… yes?” he asked and tried his best to sound like a sober person. He took a wild guess that sending that picture of the glasses would be a bad idea after all. “Sorry ‘bout not calling, I left my phone on sil… silent.”

“Yuri,” Otabek sounded alarmed but Yuri could hear how hard he tried to remain calm. Hell, he could even see him, pinching the bridge of his nose in relief, pacing in the living room, and smell like… no wait, that wasn’t right. He realized a tad late that Beka asked something he definitely forgot to pay attention to.

“S’rry, what?”

“Are you... drunk?” Otabek’s voice was filled with suspicion, as if he didn’t already know the answer to his own question. Damn. He probably gave himself away by tripping on the word “silent”. He should have said the other word. He couldn’t remember what it was, but it was easier to pronounce. 

“You smell nice,” was what he said without thinking and Otabek, despite the situation, let out a puff of air which for him counted as laughing.

“We’re on the phone, Yuri, you can’t smell me.” Yuri yawned loudly, and decided to rest his head on the table for a minute, still keeping the phone on his ear. Beka had a nice, soothing voice, low and deep, and he kind of wanted him to never stop talking but that would have been completely unlike him, and he didn’t want that. “Yura!”

“Hmpf?”

“Don’t fall asleep, tell me where you are!”

“Will you come get me?”

“Yes, just tell me where you are, please.”

Yuri raised his head. Where was he? He sort of remembered the street and mumbled it to Otabek, before dropping his head back on the table, pushing the empty glasses around with one lazy finger. 

“Okay, I’ll be right there. Will you stay on the phone with me?” 

Yuri dropped his finger from the edge of the glass. “Why, are you afraid in the dark or something?”

“Just stay on the phone, okay?”

Yuri sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Why exactly was he willing to do this when all he wanted was to fall asleep? 

Oh that’s right. Because he’d probably do a quad flip right there if Otabek asked him to.

“Fine,” he huffed and tried to sit up, supporting his forehead with his palm. He fought to keep his eyes open, but focusing on Beka’s voice proved to be increasingly more difficult like that. 

“Tell me something. Why did you get drunk? What happened?”

Yuri groaned. Talking was a challenge, he didn’t feel like doing it. “No, you tell me something,” he mumbled. “Not now. When you get here.”

He closed his eyes again. He heard Otabek say something but his brain didn’t process the words properly anymore, and he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. 

He had no idea if it was minutes or hours later, when he felt a hand tentatively shaking him awake. He was half asleep, distinctly aware of his surroundings, as he heard a voice say his name, and the fingers disappeared from his shoulder only to brush against the nape of his neck, caressing his skin. It felt nice, comforting, and it was even better when he lifted his head and leaned into the warm touch. He heard a chuckle and slowly opened his eyes.

“Hey, come on” Otabek said quietly and stood up, pulling Yuri with him and supporting him by grabbing his elbow. “Let’s get you home.”

Home. That sounded nice. He let himself be led outside and welcomed the fresh air that filled his lungs, cooling his body down. He stood in place while Otabek called a cab, leaning into him. The soft, summer wind chased away the last of his hazy dreams and cleared his head a little, but he was still far from being sober. He looked at his hand holding Beka’s and tried to remember when that happened.

“Beka,” he spoke, his voice unsure but he couldn’t stop himself. “Why are we friends?”

Otabek hung up the phone and looked at him with a frown on his face. “What do you mean?” 

Yuri felt fingers squeezing his. 

“Why are you friends with me?” he corrected himself. There was a part of him that knew he would be embarrassed about this tomorrow, but that’s why he needed to do this while he still had liquid courage working for him.

Something about the way he asked must have given away the underlying self consciousness, because Otabek turned to face him properly and let go of his hand. He studied Yuri for a few seconds with a serious expression, then cupped his cheek with a careful hand, lightly resting his thumb on Yuri’s cheekbone.

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” he said, “You wouldn’t be asking this question.”

That was it. He dropped his fingers and blinked, suddenly vulnerable, like he let on more than he meant to, even though Yuri felt like he couldn’t have possibly said less than this. He saw Otabek watching him carefully, as he tried to process that the conversation was already over. He wanted to ask something else, something that would make the Kazakh man talk about his opinion on Yuri, his feelings, anything that might indicate whether or not Yuri even had a chance. He wanted to know if hoping for something more was pointless or not. It took too long to form the words though, and the next moment the cab was there, and Yuri stayed silent. He wasn’t drunk enough to possibly humiliate himself in front of a stranger.

The car was warm and comfortable and Yuri soon felt himself being pulled back into his dreams. He dropped his head on Otabek’s shoulder and closed his eyes, just enjoying the way Beka put his arm around him and pulled him closer. 

“Yura,” he heard a whisper and felt soft lips touch his hair as Beka leaned in to talk to him. “Are you okay?”

He hummed, which he meant as yes but he heard the part of the question that remained unsaid. Otabek wanted to know what happened, why he decided that drinking alone would be a good idea. Yuri, however, was no longer on the verge of passing out and though he was sleepy, he could somewhat control his brain and mouth to work together and not say anything he didn’t want to say. Or at least not like this, not when he was drunk and Otabek wouldn’t know if he meant it. He searched for something else in his mind, to avoid talking about his reason for drinking and the words blackout drunk popped up.

“Huh,” he murmured, still with his eyes closed, “Is this what kissing feels like?”

The startled noise Otabek made meant that this was a successful distraction. “What?”

“The pig said kissing the person you love is like being drunk. World’s spinning, noises fading, that kind of dumb bullshit.” 

“I see…?”

“So?” Yuri lifted his head to properly look at his friend. He had a hard time holding himself up, so he supported himself with his arms on Beka’s shoulder, tapping on the leather jacket impatiently. 

“So what?”

Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Did he have to explain everything? He smacked Otabek’s ear with his middle finger but he didn’t seem to mind so it wasn’t as motivational as Yuri hoped it would be. “So is this what kissing feels like to you?”

“I… why is this important again?”

“It’s for school, i’m doing research,” he replied without missing a beat.

Otabek didn’t point out the fact that Yuri graduated high school almost two months ago.

“I don’t know,” he said after the silence between them had streched out long enough for Yuri to consider going back to sleep on Beka.

“But you _have_ kissed before, right?”

“Yes, Yura,” he said with a small smile. Yuri liked the way he said his name, it seemed softer somehow, like it mattered when he said it out loud. “But I didn’t love them.”

 

 

He woke up to the sound of his door being thrown open. He didn’t have the energy to open his eyes so Yuri pretended he didn’t hear anything and pulled the blanket over his head. The heat underneath made the pounding in his head worse and he groaned as he lifted the sheet only to let some air in.

“Good morning!” the voice was way too loud with a hint of amusement. Unbelievable. Yuri was going to kill him as soon as he woke up properly. “Get up, you slept enough.”

Yuri moaned to express his opinion on getting up and continued to lie there, not moving a finger. He heard some stuff being dropped on his nightstand, then the curtains were yanked open and he made another sound of complaint when he felt the sunlight on his face. He felt a hand grabbing the blanket and he blindly threw his own hand out.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Yuri was going for a firm, commanding voice, but it sounded more like whiny murmuring.

“Coffee, water, aspirin,” he only assumed that this was a list of the things on his nightstand, because he still didn’t open his eyes, “And when you’re done with those, I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Will you bring it to me?”

“Like hell I will. Get up.”

Well, it was worth a try. He lifted the blanket and glared at Otabek, who sat down on the bed next to him. Yuri needed a minute to process his friend’s facial expression. The raised eyebrow with an expectant look, lips pressed together but the lack of displeased frown could only mean one thing.

“You’re enjoying this, asshole.”

A hint of a smile appeared on Beka’s face, and he grabbed his hand to pull him up to a sitting position. The movement made Yuri’s stomach turn and he silently cursed.

“Believe it or not, I don’t enjoy it that much.”

“Liar. What time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter. I called Yakov two hours ago to tell him that you’re sick and you’ll miss training today. I’m not gonna let you break your neck on the ice.”

Yuri had absolutely no intention of going to practice like this, and he was kind of grateful that Otabek dealt with his coach for him. At that moment though, his irritation with the amused look on Beka’s face was a lot stronger than his gratitude.

“So are you sick too or what? Don’t you have to leave? Maybe right now?”

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s my day off,” Yuri had a feeling that was a lie, but Beka pushed the aspirin and the glass of water into his hands, and continued before he could call him out on it. “I’m gonna spend the whole day with you. Now, drink this.”

“I fucking hate you.” 

“I know. Drink.”

“My mouth tastes like a squirrel moved in and died there overnight,” he said after he quickly gulped down the water. “Stop laughing at me, you ass.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Beka shook his head apologetically but he was still smiling, his eyes shining with affection, and Yuri thought it was terribly unfair to look that cute when he wanted to be angry at him. 

“Do you really have nothing else to do than watch me suffer?” 

“Nothing at all,” he answered with a slight tilt of his head. Fucking unfair, Yuri thought again, he looked like a big puppy. It shouldn’t even affect him. He was a cat person, for fuck’s sake.

“Man, you need a hobby,” he said, and then sighed, defeated. “Fine. But you’re making me pirozhki for breakfast.”

 

The next time Yuri felt strong enough to speak more than two words, it was after taking a shower, sitting at the kitchen table with his mouth full of food.

“Otabek Altin,” he started, and his roommate looked up from his own plate, frowning at the use of his full name, “You have betrayed my trust and our friendship, and I hereby forbid you to make pirozhki ever again.”

He didn’t reply, because, Yuri thought, he knew exactly what his problem was and the bastard probably enjoyed torturing him.

“This is a disgrace. You put vegetables in this.” 

“There’s meat in it too,” Beka argued, but Yuri was having none of it.

“Pirozhki is my guilty pleasure, my cheat food, and you put healthy stuff in it. Shame on you.”

“Well, you can always just give it to me if it’s that bad,” and Otabek clearly had a death wish, because with that, he reached across the table, snatched the pirozhki from Yuri and _took a bite_.

Yuri was speechless for a few seconds, his hands grabbing the air where his life saving, hangover curing breakfast had been a minute ago.

“That’s it, you’re moving out, you’re the worst shithead best friend ever, and I hate you,” he said, and then he was sure he was having a stroke because the ever so stoic man was giving him fucking puppy eyes and pouted at him in a mocking way that made Yuri want to climb over the table and do all kinds of things with him. This was going to be a fucking long day, he thought, and he felt the sudden urge to make up an excuse to avoid Otabek.

“So you don’t think I smell nice anymore?” he asked, trying to act all innocent and failing spectacularly.

Yuri’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Yesterday,”Beka explained, “You told me on the phone that I smelled nice.” 

“I fucking did not.” But he remembered, he really did say that, and now that it came up he kind of wanted to die. So far he’d tried to avoid thinking about all the embarrassing things he said while he was drunk but it seemed like his luck ran out in the first two hours of being awake. “And if you ever mention this again, I’m setting your vinyls on fire.”

“I’m sorry,” Otabek sounded honest and handed the pirozhki back. “Eat. And then, if you want, we can watch those movies with your favourite guy in it.”

You’re my favourite guy, Yuri almost said, but he swallowed the words and nodded. Movie with Otabek meant that he was going to need the self control of a nun, because that was the time they forgot about the barriers of friendship. 

It meant that during every gross scene, Beka would absent-mindedly grab his hand, and they would sit next to each other, shoulders and thighs touching, leaning in close to comment on something, and by the end of the movie, Yuri would end up half lying on Otabek because he was basically a cat in human form, with no concept of personal space.

But, when he sat down on the bed with his laptop, he realized that if he didn’t do any of these things now, if he just kept his distance like a normal person, Beka would definitely notice that something was wrong. It was a no-win scenario, and he already regretted agreeing to a Saw-marathon. 

Otabek joined him on the bed, and frowned when he saw a pillow placed in the middle of it, Yuri hugging his knees on the other side.

“I might lie down,” he said, trying to explain the pillow, “I’m still not feeling good.”

But that didn’t work either, because, as Yuri later wanted to rest his head on it for real, Otabek reached out and started downright petting him, like he was a cat or something, brushing his hair with his fingers. He probably thought it would be soothing, that it would help him relax but all it did was making Yuri sink his hand in the pillow, hanging onto it so he wouldn’t do something stupid, like grab Beka’s fingers and kiss them. 

It drove him crazy. It’d been literally one day since he realized his feelings (Yuri mentally rolled his eyes whenever he thought of this word) and he was unable to act like before, when touching his friend was perfectly natural. 

He desperately wanted to ignore how hungry he was for these small signs of affection, the handholding, the hugs, the playful way they poked at each other, and how Beka seemed to really like messing with Yuri’s hair. He felt him tugging on it carefully to get his attention, and Yuri looked up from the pillow.

“Will you tell me now?” he asked quietly, and Yuri know what he meant but god dammit why couldn’t they just watch a fucking movie in silence for once.

“It was nothing,” he shrugged. “Mila pissed me off.”

And then, mentioning her name brought up the question in the back of his mind again. She asked if Otabek would be interested in her, and Yuri said no like it was the most natural thing in the world, but now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure. They never talked about girlfriends, boyfriends or any kind of romantic feelings for anyone in the three years of their friendship.

He wondered if Otabek ever had someone during these years he didn’t tell Yuri about. Or if he actually liked Mila. Because yes, she was annoying, but she mostly annoyed Yuri and no one else. With the others, she was friendly, chatty, nice, and she liked teasing people, but she also knew everyone better than they knew themselves. Mila remembered every birthday, she knew what people’s favourite colour was, and if their pet was alright, or where they planned to go for a vacation. She could talk to anyone, was interested in anyone, and she paid attention to everything they said. She was everything Yuri wasn’t.

“So you got drunk because of her?” Otabek asked suddenly, and his hand disappeared from Yuri’s hair. 

“Yes. No!” 

“Yuri, I’m getting a bit confused here.”

“What do you think of her?” he asked instead of giving an explanation, because he needed time to figure one out that didn’t involve ‘I realized I really want to kiss you and keep you forever and I can’t deal with it’.

He looked up, when the other man didn’t reply, and found the warm brown eyes looking at him, examining Yuri like Otabek was looking for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet said out loud.

“She’s a very nice girl,” he said, watching Yuri closely, who really wanted to look away but kind of got lost because Beka’s eyes were so impossibly brown and beautiful. 

God, he started to sound like Viktor. He turned his attention back to the movie, refusing to be all sappy and romantic. Like hell he was going to start writing songs about Otabek’s eyes. And what the fuck, was he actually blushing? 

Was he even still capable of acting like a normal person around Beka?

“Everyone knows that,” he mumbled, stubbornly watching the monitor, “Whatever, forget it.”

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t get close to Otabek again, like he’d been before, and as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that it was because he was scared. The day passed quickly and at the same time, painfully slowly, like the universe wanted him to experience every moment of it so he can realize that this is how it was going to be if he stayed quiet.

After the movie, which he spent sitting as far away from Beka as it was possible without it being awkward, they went out to have a late lunch. He didn’t say much, and Otabek, being Otabek didn’t initiate a conversation. He was always the one who listened, the one who cared, the one who paid attention to the nonsense, the bullshit and the accidental truth of what Yuri Plisetsky was. He did that now too, despite Yuri being unusually quiet, he could feel his friend’s eyes on him, watching, noticing. It was a dream just as much as it was a nightmare, because he wanted Otabek to see through him, but he was also afraid of his reaction.

Yuri always considered himself a brave person. Whether it was a quad Axel, or a dance off, he never refused a challenge, he went out of his way to prove that he was capable, he could handle it, and now he felt like this was the one risk he couldn’t just take like it was nothing. Winning or losing here seemed so much more important than at a competition, and his own fear and insecurity made him angry and even more scared. 

And Otabek was watching, silently, as Yuri avoided his eyes, as he kept his distance, not letting their shoulders touch when they walked, not bumping into each other, not grabbing his hand to get his attention. He tried to remember the night when he decided to just accept it like a challenge and science his way through this, but even though it was only two days ago, he couldn’t quite get that feeling back. 

His mind wandered again, picturing what it would be like to carelessly touch, what it would be like if he could just kiss Otabek whenever he wanted and Beka would kiss him back, holding him close. 

He wanted to be someone else for five minutes, just so he could yell at himself for being so stupid about this. He was fucking pathetic. But he couldn’t help it. 

He threw his wallet on the table when they got home, and practically ran into his room, shutting the door before Otabek even took his shoes off. He could feel his friend’s confusion, and even heard him standing outside his door, deciding whether or not he should knock.

Don’t do it, Yuri warned him silently.

Beka’s footsteps faded away, and he was left alone. He heard him moving around the kitchen, calling for Tasha, feeding her and changing her water, and even that, the distant presence of his friend made him feel a bit better. Like despite everything, he was safe, because Beka was there, taking care of Yuri and his surroundings even when he didn’t ask for it. Especially when he didn’t ask for it.

He listened to his moves, and heard him stop at his room again. 

_Don’t fucking do it_ , he whispered, closing his eyes, as if he could will away Beka’s hand from the door.

This time, it didn’t work. He heard three quiet, unsure knocks, and for a minute considered not answering. He knew Otabek would leave him alone, he wouldn’t pressure him into talking, he wouldn’t kick down his door to force Yuri to let down his guards.

But Yuri Plisetsky was also a weak man when it came to Otabek.

“What,” he barked at his friend once he opened the door, and then turned away instantly, showing his back to him.

“Yura,” he started softly, and Yuri almost hated him for the sheer amount of affection and understanding in his voice. Almost. “You don’t have to tell me what happened.”

“Awesome,” he interrupted, “Because it’s none of your fucking business.”

“But,” Beka continued firmly, leaning against the wall, keeping a respective distance between them, “I would really like you to stop acting like this around me.”

“What are you talking about? I’m always like this,” Yuri scoffed, angry and impatient, snapping at Otabek, but the words felt fake, even if they were partially true.

“Not with me, you aren’t.”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t specify what “like this” meant. He didn’t need to, because they both knew exactly that Yuri wore his anger and indifference as a mask in front of the world. It became a habit, an image he maintained after his more rebellious teenage years were over, but he never, not once had to wear it with Beka. It was as if that image of Yuri didn’t even exist with him, he didn’t have to try and see through it, because for Otabek, it wasn’t there. But now, after three years of their friendship he gets to experience the true Plisetsky treatment. 

Yuri felt a slight pang of guilt clawing at his throat, making it more difficult to respond. He had a chance to make it right, if he just said something now, he knew that, and he wanted nothing more than to just fucking do it and see what happens. 

“Leave me alone,” he replied with a cold voice turning away from Beka once again, his chest tight and heavy from the words that remained unspoken.

He didn’t have to ask him twice, just as Yuri predicted. Otabek left quietly, closing the door behind him. Yuri felt something at his feet, and looked down to see Tasha who sneaked in the room at some point. She, too, seemed to be judging Yuri for his behaviour.

“What?” he asked and the cat gave him a disapproving look.

 

The next few weeks, Yuri buried himself in training. It was the perfect excuse given that the season was about to start, and he really did have to focus on polishing his programs anyway. It also gave him a reason to yell at people who dared to interrupt his practice. He saw the worried glances from the pig, and sometimes Mila looked at him like she was about to say something, but she always changed her mind and retreated. He talked to them when it was necessary, and kept the socializing to a bare minimum, only going out with them so they wouldn’t talk about him behind his back. They probably found a way regardless, because they all seemed to agree that something was up, and Yuri saw how they all tried to carefully approach him. Like they were afraid Yuri would start screaming or crying if they said the wrong thing. Yakov usually left him alone, shouting only when Yuri’s bad mood and occasional recklessness endangered his skating or his health, but he didn’t mind that. From Yakov, it was familiar, normal, he was the only one who didn’t treat Yuri like he was about to break.

He didn’t really know if Otabek intended to talk to him again or not, because on the first morning following that night, Yuri was out of the apartment before Beka’s alarm even went off. They always walked to practice together, and he knew that Otabek would get the message he was trying to send by leaving earlier.

He probably did get it, because when he arrived at the rink that morning, he only glanced at Yuri once, then went to work with his choreographer. They hadn’t talked about it after either, because Yuri proceeded to try and avoid every situation where they had to be alone, and shut down completely when he couldn’t. It was painful, but not as painful as having to see the pity on his face if he ever found out about Yuri’s feelings.

But he wasn’t blind, and even though Otabek hadn’t pushed him to talk, he saw him trying. Sometimes he would cook Yuri’s favourite dishes and make small talk over dinner, or suggest they watch a movie together. He would ask him to show where he can find certain places in Saint Petersburg, despite being completely capable of googling it himself. Yuri would eat quietly, mumbling a quiet “thanks for dinner”, reply to his questions like he would to a stranger and find a way to avoid movie night. He had an army of excuses from being tired to having an early morning, wanting to read a book, or going out with friends.

And he can see the hurt look on Beka’s face as he accepts the bullshit explanations without calling him out on them, feel the brown eyes staring at his back as he turns away from him everytime. It was probably the worst thing Yuri could have done, shutting him out like that, but he still didn’t know how to handle his newfound feelings for him, so he decided to not handle them at all. He couldn’t act like nothing had changed, but facing the truth and telling Otabek how he loved him scared him to death. 

So he spent his days at the rink, staying hours after everyone had left, just going through his programs like a robot. He practiced them so much that he probably could have done them all in his sleep, until every step and jump was perfect and smooth as if he was a figure skating machine. Except he didn’t feel like a phoenix rising from ashes, as he originally planned his theme, more like one that was about to die, old, empty and exhausted.

And then, one day, Yakov called everyone off the ice and made them sit through Beka’s short program. He did that sometimes, expected everyone to watch, learn and offer their opinions after. Yuri sat down on a bench feeling more tired than ever, and watched as Beka made his way to the center of the rink.

A piano started playing softly, and Yuri couldn’t bring himself to look away. He should have, it would have been so much easier, but he remembered that Otabek’s theme for the season was “unguarded”. He offered no explanation or backstory at all, insisting that Yuri would have to wait and see, and so curiosity got the better of him. 

He started with a completely closed off position, arms crossed in front of him, looking down at his feet, then skated around the rink, preparing for his first jump, a quadruple Salchow. After he landed it without a problem, Otabek started to slowly open up in the performance, and Yuri stopped giving a fuck whether or not it was a good idea to watch him. He skated backwards, blades loudly gliding across the rink, and Beka reached out with his right hand, almost as if there was someone else on the ice with him. He landed a perfect quad toe-triple toe combination right after. 

It was a bittersweet program, almost cruel in its honesty, and Yuri had never seen Otabek more vulnerable than during those three minutes. It made him realize one thing, and one thing only: this was something Otabek had never talked about, at least not to him. He clearly had this whole story in his mind in connection with something he didn’t want to tell Yuri about. Maybe it was because he didn’t trust him, or he just wasn’t ready, or maybe it was because it was none of his business and Otabek didn’t think he should know about it, but it hurt to watch, because Yuri felt like a stranger. This was something he had nothing to do with.

The choreography was solid, strong and emotional, and he thought it looked like a promise. Beka slowly peeled off the walls he built around himself, and skated words he had probably never said out loud. Defenseless, honest, there for the whole world to see, he didn’t even need to say them, they were there in every move. 

Unguarded.

It reminded Yuri of his first senior level program, when he finally realized what Agape meant to him, that innocent, selfless love he poured into his performance, except that this wasn’t just something Otabek was beginning to figure out. His message was there in his step sequence, and his perfectly arched back Ina Bauer, like an offering, a gift for someone.

No, it wasn’t like Agape, when Yuri needed months to truly recognize the love around him. This was the kind of love Otabek had completely accepted and offered without asking for anything in return, and Yuri wondered if the person he skated for knew how much it meant that Otabek let down his walls to show this to them.

He truly hoped that whoever it was, he or she realized how difficult it was to be completely naked on the ice, without the layers of theatre and the protection of a well-designed performance, and just skate with everything you have. It was even harder for someone like Beka, who always kept a safe distance, not letting his true emotions shine through the walls of a carefully built image to the world.

He finished the program with his arms stretched out in front him, holding his head high proudly, highlighting the difference between that and his starting position. 

Yuri escaped to the bathroom before anyone had a chance to ask for his opinion. He wasn’t sure he could form coherent sentences about it without being rude for no reason. This was too important, and he knew he could pretend not to care and throw a hurtful comment or two, but he also knew that he wouldn’t ever forgive himself for that. He wasn’t about to ruin something so personal and beautiful.

Strangely, the person who decided to put an end to Yuri’s painfully slow self-destruction, wasn’t Yakov or Otabek, but Viktor. After countless days of disapproving frowns and weak attempts to cheer him up, he stopped him at the end of their practice, resting a hand on Yuri’s shoulder with a worried, almost fatherly expression on his face.

He didn’t say anything at first, just studied his face quietly for a few seconds before he started speaking.

“What’s going on?” he asked, and Yuri would have appreciated the lack of teasing if he hadn’t been in such a terrible mood. 

“Nothing,” he grunted and shook Viktor’s hand off. He wasn’t exactly looking for a fight, but if the old man wanted to start one, he wasn’t going to say no to it. 

“Sure,” he nodded, “How about we pretend that the usual part is over, I asked again, you told me to go to hell, I tried to be funny and pissed you off even more. Now. What’s wrong, Yurio?”

Well, if he called him that, Yuri decided, he definitely had it coming.

“Can you fucking stop?” he wanted desperately to yell at Viktor, to kick or punch him, as he would have done when he was fifteen. It was easier because people usually got angry enough to stop asking questions, but right now he just felt drained, not having the energy to even raise his voice that much. He took a step back, and slapped Viktor’s hand away, not caring that there were still people around them. He half acknowledged the presence of the japanese Yuuri, a couple of children they were coaching, and Otabek, watching from a distance. “That’s not my goddamn name, why is that so hard to understand? Get your pig husband a nickname, if you can’t tell us apart!”

“That’s enough.” Viktor’s reply was firm and cold, and his tone made Yuri actually withdraw a little. “You’re scaring my kids, Yuri, and you’re going to hurt yourself if you continue to train like this. I talked to Yakov. If you insist on trying quad Axels in this state, we’re doing it with a harness.”

Yuri snorted.

“Please,” he said, “I’ve never in my life used a harness, you know damn well that it could ruin the jump for me. I’m not used to it, this isn’t how we do things.”

“I’m willing to take that risk if it means you won’t break yourself,” His voice made it clear that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Yuri had never heard Viktor talk like this, he almost sounded like a real coach, and he was actually quite impressed. Not that he would ever admit that, but Viktor was such a big damn puppy all the time, that the sudden change in his attitude had the desired effect and made him shut up for a minute.

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes, “I’ll slow down a bit. But don’t even think about the fucking harness.”

“Great!” The usual happy smile was already back, but it seemed forced and careful. Viktor’s eyes betrayed him, he was still watching him like he could explode any minute now or break down crying. “Ah, by the way, I think I forgot to ask you yesterday. Yuri, would you like to come over for dinner tonight?”

Yuri narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The use of his real name and the fact that he was asked, not told to go were to bait him, that was obvious. He considered his options for a minute, because while dinner at the Katsuki-Nikiforov household was always a treat, he was probably in for a long night of questions, life-lessons and unwanted advice.

Of course it was also a brilliant excuse to not spend his evening with Beka or hiding in his bedroom again. “Just me?”

“Just you,” Damn Viktor and that knowing look on his face. As if he had any idea at all what Yuri was going through.

“Who’s cooking?” 

“I believe it’s Yuuri’s turn.” He even pretended to think about the answer. Liar. They all knew Katsudon was a better cook and Yuri secretly loved everything he made.

“Alright,” he shrugged, and because Viktor could no longer pretend to be an actual adult, he clapped his hands in delight then reached out and ruffled Yuri’s hair.

He sighed, and didn’t even try to stop him, just gave him his best murder eyes.

Only when Viktor went back to join his husband again, and he turned around to gather his things, had he noticed Otabek standing at the gate of the rink holding his backpack and leather jacket. He stepped closer, and Yuri tried very hard to act normal and not do anything like staring at him or running away. 

Except sometimes staring at Beka wasn’t optional for him. Usually when his presence surprised him, and he wasn’t prepared to see him, when he managed to forget about him for a while and then he appeared out of nowhere, that’s when it was the hardest. His emotions flooded him as he saw Beka awkwardly clutching his bag, but refusing to avoid his eyes. 

“So... what did you think of the program?” he asked, looking at him directly with a determination on his face. He looked like he was willing to accept anything Yuri had to say, be it well-intended criticism or meaningless insult. 

Yuri blinked, and focused on his heart pounding in his chest loudly. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid by shamelessly hiding in the bathroom. He could be an ass just about anything, but not this, never this. 

“It was amazing, Beka,” he offered, forcing his lips to form a small smile, “Really.” 

He probably should have said more, but Otabek nodded and seemed genuinely grateful for the reply. Great, Yuri thought. He fucked up so badly that now he received points for not being a total asshole.

Beka was about to say something else. He averted his gaze for a second, stopped to draw breath and his hand moved towards Yuri’s. It was, or used to be, Yuri corrected himself bitterly, a familiar touch, fingers curling around his wrist to get his attention or to just hold onto each other without any particular reason. Then even the smallest touch started to burn on his skin, and he couldn’t look his friend in the eye when it happened, so he no longer let himself get close.

This was no different, and almost on instinct, Yuri pulled his hand away, hiding his clenched fist in his hoodie’s pocket. The obvious move didn’t go unnoticed and Beka’s hand froze between them before he jerked back, looking at him like he’d just seen Yuri for the first time. 

He nodded again, then stepped away from him, leaving Yuri alone with his growing guilt trip. He knew that he’d chosen the worst possible way of not dealing with his feelings, and now it was too late to take it all back and try again. 

He sat in the backseat of a car sulking silently while Viktor drove them to their place. He saw them exchanging worried looks, having a wordless conversation, and decided not to say anything about it, because that would have just given them an excuse to start talking about things Yuri most definitely did not want to talk about. 

When they got home, he took his usual place on the couch and put his legs up on the table in front of him. Yuuri hated when he did that, lectured him about it every time and he always insulted him in return. It became a habit, this was how their evenings started whenever Yuri was around, but today the pig just went to the kitchen to prepare for dinner, barely sparing a glance at him. 

Yuri sighed and followed Katsudon.

“What?” he barked at him, hoping that the other will back off if he recognizes his famous _I fucking dare you to say anything_ attitude. With Viktor not being there with them, it was a safer bet to try it with the pig. Yuuri looked up from the fridge, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“Nothing,” he replied, going back to the food, “I just didn’t want to upset you even more.”

“I’m fucking fine,” Yuri snapped at him, closing his eyes for a second, muttering to himself, “Why is everyone treating me like I could fucking break any minute?”

Naturally, the pig thought he should answer because he didn’t understand the concept of a rhetorical question.

“Maybe because that’s what we see,” he said, glancing at Yuri. “I don’t expect you to tell me what’s wrong, Yurio, but you really should consider talking to someone.” 

“There is nothing to talk about.” 

Katsudon clearly didn’t believe him, but at least he stopped bothering him after that, and he looked like he genuinely didn’t know what was going on, so Yuri calmed down a little. Maybe there wasn’t going to be an intervention after all.

They spent the dinner talking about everything and nothing, and Yuri felt himself relax around them. He still caught a few careful glances from Viktor but it was nothing he couldn’t handle by ignoring them completely, and they didn’t mention the failed attempts at the quad Axel, Mila, Otabek or anything related to Yuri’s bad mood.

After they ate he decided to stick around a bit as usual, watch TV or just rest while the couple cleaned up the dishes, so he went back to take this place on the couch. He was just about to pick a channel when Viktor showed up.

“Yurio, help me with something!” He sat down next to him, placing his laptop on the table. 

“Still not my name,” he replied, and glanced at the screen reluctantly. It was a recording of one of Viktor’s new skaters, a baby-faced 12-year-old and Yuri sighed. He wasn’t keen on playing coach with Viktor right now, and he wasn’t sure if he could offer any useful advice anyway.

“This is Maxim. He’s been training with me for a few months, and I’d like to hear your opinion on him.”

“What’s his story?” Yuri asked, still mostly unimpressed. He sort of remembered the kid, he’d seen him skating. Wasn’t exactly bad but not nearly the best one either.

“He is too afraid to fight for his jumps, that’s the only thing stopping him. I’ve tried everything, but he’s not like Yuuri was,” Viktor smiled softly at his husband’s name, but went on without another comment, much to Yuri’s appreciation. “He won’t let me push him, he closes off. And he’s never competed before.”

That piqued his interest. He looked up from the screen to Viktor.

“What? Never?”

“No,” Viktor shook his head, “His family moved here from a small town a few months ago, and before that his coach was… well, let’s just say he wasn’t like Yakov. Or anyone, really.” 

Yuri watched the video with slightly increasing interest, paid attention to the boy’s technique. He wasn’t as bad as he initially thought, now that he really looked at him, but his fear and lack of confidence was obvious.

“You should send him to a competition,” he decided to say when the recording was over, “Throw him in the game.”

“Really?” Viktor looked at him with his head tilted, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Sure. If he doesn’t have what it takes, he can still become a zamboni driver.”

“Huh. I had a feeling you’d say that.” The smile disappeared, and Yuri started to realize that he’d walked into some kind of trap. His suspicion proved to be well-founded when, after a short pause, Viktor continued. “Maybe you should follow your own advice. Throw yourself in the game.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” 

Yuri felt his stomach drop and he looked at Viktor with wide eyes. He held out hope that it wasn’t about Otabek, that the older man would surprise him and say something about his quad Axel, or his free skate or really, anything other than that.

“You should tell him how you feel.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. Judging by the way Viktor held his gaze, there seemed to be no point in denying it but Yuri thought he ought to give it a try anyway.

“Look, I don’t know what the pig told you, but that conversation had nothing to do with… anyone or anything.”

It was a weak attempt, and he felt a blush on his cheeks, betraying his blatant lie. He brushed his hair from his face furiously, angry that his own reaction gave him away so quickly.

“He didn’t say anything, he didn’t even have to. I suspected it, but I wasn’t sure until I saw you today, watching him skate.” His voice was careful, soft, he spoke in the same fatherly tone he used with Yuri earlier that day. 

So he’d forgotten about himself when Beka was skating his short program. Did the others noticed it too? Although Yuuri seemed to have no idea, Viktor was probably the most oblivious person in all of Russia so he suspected he wasn’t the only one who connected the dots. He wondered if Otabek knew as well. 

“I don’t want to lose him,” he said so quietly, he wasn’t sure Viktor even heard him. But then he felt a reassuring hand squeeze his shoulder, and he knew that the man sitting next to him _understood_. Of course, Yuri thought absent-mindedly, this had to be more or less similar to what he was going through with the japanese Yuuri. He still didn’t know the whole story, but from bits and pieces, he got the picture of how the two of them fell in love, and it explained why Viktor noticed his feelings but Yuuri didn’t. 

He didn’t say anything more about it, and Viktor didn’t ask, but he still felt the lightest traces of pressure lifted from his chest, and he breathed in easier than anytime in the last few weeks. 

Following the logic, he had to accept that suffering silently wouldn’t make things better in a million years. 

He made a decision.

“I have to go,” he stood up, letting out a sigh and Viktor smiled at him in a knowing way, because the bastard probably knew him better than Yuri would ever dare to admit.

Despite both him and Yuuri offering to give him a lift, he chose the bus and spent the entire way mentally preparing for what was probably going to be the most difficult conversation in his life. He planned and practiced his words, and sooner than he wanted to, he stood in front of the apartment, hands shaking a little as he struggled to get the door open.

He took off his coat as quietly as possible, willing himself to stay calm with his full arsenal of swearwords. He could absolutely do this. He was Yuri Fucking Plisetsky, unstoppable on ice and talking about Feelings (with a capital F because now really wasn’t the time to deny he was a drama queen) wasn’t going to be the one thing he can’t do. They are just emotions, and Otabek was only a person, definitely not a scary one, that is. 

Beka’s door was slightly open as it almost always was once Yuri stopped talking to him. He probably meant it as a sign that he was still there for him whenever he needed someone, or if he decided to stop ignoring his presence. It took Yuri a little less than three weeks but he was about to do just that.

No, not just that. He didn’t just planned to not ignore him anymore, he was about to drop the biggest fucking bomb on their friendship. He walked closer to take a look inside, just to check if he was even there. He had no reason to believe he wasn’t, he was just stalling, but Yuri thought he was allowed to have a minute before possibly ruining the best friendship he’d ever had in his life.

The room was dark, with only the laptop’s screen painting a small area in a dim, blue light. A movie was playing and as he focused on the quiet voices, he realized that Beka was watching the last Saw movie. Yuri couldn’t help but smile a little at that.

He hesitated in front of the door, with his hand stopping mid-air while preparing to knock. 

He only needed a second of not thinking, to get him going. 

He could do this.

Yuri knocked twice before he could change his mind then stepped inside without waiting for an answer. 

He could see the disbelief in Otabek’s eyes as he jerked his head up to the sound and realized that Yuri was, in fact, in his room, one hand holding onto the door awkwardly, shifting from one foot to another. He paused the movie and reached for the lamp next to the nightstand, turning on the light. Yuri let his hand fall from the door, clutching the hem of his dark blue hoodie, and searched for the words he’d been practicing. 

Neither of them moved towards the other, while Beka waited patiently for him to start speaking. 

It was now or never. He could do this.

He was Yuri Fucking Plisetsky.

“I have to tell you something,” he started, and Otabek still hadn’t moved a bit, as if he was afraid he would somehow scare him away. His deep brown eyes stared a hole into Yuri’s soul, and he felt his stomach clench. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide that they were shaking, and took a deep breath. 

“I have been avoiding you, and I did it because I realized that I’ve been in love with you for god knows how long now.” He hurried to get the words out, to not leave the other man enough time to react in any way before he was done speaking. “And I just want you to know that it’s totally okay if you never want to see me again, or if you just want to move out, I just… I understand, okay? You don’t even have to say anything, but I was going crazy keeping this all to myself so if you don’t want to be friends anymore, then that’s fine, but I needed to tell you this, because I couldn’t just pretend that I don’t have these stupid feelings.”

He nodded to himself when he finished and let out a shaky breath, avoiding Beka’s eyes. “So, um… that’s it. I’m gonna go.” 

He turned around and felt his eyes stinging with the first tears of what seemed to be a mix of frustration and relief. It was over, he’d done it and now he just wanted to disappear in his room and probably hug his cat for an hour or two. Or days, at this point he really didn’t care. He blinked away the tears furiously and practically threw the door open in order to escape when Beka said something that made him stop dead in his tracks, staring ahead, frozen as he processed the words.

“My short program is about you.”

Yuri looked back and watched as Otabek got up from the bed, walking towards him slowly, not breaking eye contact for a second. 

“You know, I… I can’t believe you didn’t notice,” he said with the hint of a smile following his words. “I thought it was pretty damn obvious.”

He was standing frozen in spot, trying to understand what he was hearing. 

“I asked Yakov to let me perform it in front of everyone as sort of a last resort to get through to you.”

He stepped closer, and Yuri thought his heart was going to burst as he listened to Beka over the loud pounding in his ears, still having a hard time grasping the meaning behind the words. Although he started to get the idea of what Beka was saying, he really needed to hear it loud and clear for the sake of his sanity.

And because Yuri was still Yuri, he let out an impatient sigh before closing the distance between them and poked Otabek’s chest with his index finger. “Could you please stop fucking around and get to the point? This is pretty damn stressful for me, you know.”

Beka had the nerve to outright laugh at him. He grabbed Yuri’s wrist still raised between them and tugged him closer, bringing his other hand up to brush through the blond hair, his thumb caressing Yuri’s cheekbone, shaking his head fondly.

“God, I love you,” he said, simple as that, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Yuri stared at him with wide eyes.

“You’re such a shithead,” he replied after a few moments of silence, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He didn’t really expect a proper answer because then Beka bit his lower lip and not only was that the hottest thing he’d ever seen, but he also started to realize that that was nothing compared to what he was in for. 

“Yura,” Beka said in a low voice, letting go of his hand and pulling him closer by his waist, “Can we talk about this some other time? I would really like to kiss you now.”

Yuri’s fingers tightened around the t-shirt he was holding onto and he nodded, not moving an inch.

“If you must,” he added, because he just had to have the last word, but the next moment Beka’s lips were on his and he was pretty sure his brain stopped functioning.

It wasn’t like being drunk, not at first. It felt like coming home, safe, familiar, comfortable with a sense of belonging and he put his arms around Otabek’s neck to hug him even closer. Beka responded by tightening his hold on him, and Yuri’s only rational thought was that he never wanted to stop doing this. 

And then he felt Beka’s tongue between his lips and he quickly understood what Katsudon meant by the comparison because his self-control went flying out the window and he started kissing back with everything he had, hands tugging, pulling on Beka’s hair and exploring his back, and it was all too much and not nearly enough. He felt arms around his waist, fingers digging into his flesh, as Beka made a low, almost desperate sound and Yuri pressed his palm against his cheek to steady him, despite being on the verge of a heart attack himself.

The universe really did get narrowed down to the body pressed against him, every single background noise fading away, and he was unable to think straight. His legs probably would have given out if it wasn’t for Beka who held onto him like his life depended on it, and a needy whine escaped Yuri’s lips which he would later deny when he was capable of speaking actual words again.

Yuri wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he roughly put it between five minutes and two hours, when they stopped, panting heavily against each other, their foreheads touching as they both tried to collect themselves. Not that he cared about the time, because he would have been perfectly fine with locking themselves in the room forever and faking their deaths so they wouldn’t ever had to do anything else but get lost in each other again and again. Although there was one thing he wanted to ask Otabek about, now that he sort of regained his ability to think, and he smirked, taking a small step back to look at him properly.

“Unguarded, huh.”

Beka smiled softly before replying, lightly squeezing his hand.

“I didn’t stand a chance.” 

“I wish you’d never have to go back to Almaty.”

That wasn’t really what he wanted to think about right now but he couldn’t help but remember that their time together had an expiration date. Beka was only in Saint Petersburg temporarily, until his coach was needed at home to take care of his mother. It was selfish of him, because his whole family was waiting for him in Kazakhstan, but after their time together in Russia, and especially now that they were both aware of their feelings for each other, it seemed impossible to just go back to living in different countries, thousands of kilometres and three hours of time difference between them. 

He saw a moment of confusion on Otabek’s face, before he realized what Yuri was talking about.

“Oh… about that.” He looked almost guilty, and glanced down at his feet, which Yuri recognized as Beka’s way of expressing nervousness.

No fucking way, it couldn’t be this soon, not now when they finally got everything right.

“Pavel called me back a month ago,” he said, “I… told him I wanted to stay here. I was already discussing it with Yakov. I meant to tell you, but then you stopped talking to me and I haven’t had the chance.”

Yuri, for the second time that day, lost his ability to understand words after Beka told him he was going to stay. He could hear him saying something about not making this decision solely because of him, but also because he really felt like he could still improve with Yakov’s help, but Yuri didn’t really processed that part. He threw his arms around Beka, hugging him once again, with the feeling of home and belonging there even stronger than before as the other man embraced him.

They were going to be alright.

He was going to be alright.

He was Yuri Plisetsky, who just faced the biggest challenge in his life and absolutely fucking nailed it.

Of course, as he found out the next day, this still didn’t mean he could finally land the quadruple Axel. Beka only raised an eyebrow when he grudgingly admitted that he’d hoped their newfound relationship would solve this problem. He didn’t say anything, but he did that thing with his face which meant he was laughing on the inside and Yuri rolled his eyes, skating away from him.

He did some spins for fun to get ready when he spotted Mila by the rink, talking to some little kid who probably belonged to Viktor and the pig’s group. He stopped next to them and Mila looked at him, surprised but with the same welcoming attitude she had with everyone. It didn’t fool Yuri, he knew full well that he would later get the well-deserved revenge by being teased endlessly.

“Hey, go away,” he told the 8-year-old in a much kinder way than his words suggested it before turning to Mila. “I’m gonna do you a favor.”

“I can hardly wait,” she chuckled.

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re fucking crazy about Sara Crispino. Do something about it.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, because judging by the stunned silence that followed his words he would have had to wait for a long time and he didn’t have time for that.

He had a quad Axel to land.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, okay! A couple of notes!
> 
> Note 1: I named Pavel and Tasha after Star Trek characters, because if I have a chance to reference ST I can never resist.
> 
> Note 2: If you think Otabek thought Yuri liked Mila after he talked to him about her, you're absolutely right lol. However I hate the miscommunication trope and I also didn't think Otabek would call him out on it, so let's just say he realized pretty soon that the only person Yuri is weird with, is him. With that, he discarded this idea (and no, he still didn't click that he was right about Yuri liking _someone_ ).
> 
> Note 3: My first language still isn't English, so if you noticed any mistakes (there are probably a few of them, sorry), please let me know.
> 
> Note 4: thanks for pointing out the mistakes, I think I fixed them all, but not sure so just let me know if you saw something!!


End file.
